


Within these Hallowed Halls

by LilyRosetheDreamer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Halloween Overwatch Brawl, seriously the lines are very interesting to meee, so have this, spoopy angst, the brawl gave me feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosetheDreamer/pseuds/LilyRosetheDreamer
Summary: The castle walls hold firm and the heroes are tired, but victorious. They must move on, but to where?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So I LOVE the new Halloween Overwatch brawl and well…I got fic ideas and feelings. Again. Anyway, please enjoy! Beware the spooky angst!

Dust settles.

Breath fogs up what remains of the Hallowed night as four sets of lungs pant from excursion.

A Gunslinger turns to a Soldier.

“Well now, how about that?”

The Soldier barks out a rough laugh and slings an arm fondly around the elderly shoulders of the Alchemist. She smiles triumphantly up at him as the Gunslinger lets out a warm chuckle, thumbing away a smudge of dirt on his cheek..

“I told you I would get us through this alive,” she scoffs, shoving a hand against the war veteran’s shoulders and giving the Gunslinger dagger eyes. 

“You always do,” says the Soldier with a shrug, scratching at his greying head while the Gunslinger puts up his hands apologetically. “Didn’t have any reason to doubt you.”

The fourth companion stands apart, alone. Dark eyes roam the torn up grounds and his bow remains nocked with an arrow. 

“Y’know, pretty sure the Lord of this place offered us a reward,” the Gunslinger drawls with a little smirk and the Soldier shrugs. 

“I’m not one to turn down an offer like that,” he quips, slinging his gun over his shoulder. 

The three start to trudge over to the doors, but one pauses and looks back, a little confused. 

“Archer? Y’comin’?”

There is a ripple of tension in his shoulders, fine drops of first rain misting his hair like morning dew on grass. Then it snakes out of him all at once and he finally puts away his arrow and bow. 

“Yes,” he replies softly. “I suppose it is quiet now,”

The patter of his booted feet adds to the heavier tread of the other three wanderers and it sets a little smile on the Alchemist’s face. It’s a comforting sound, a sweet one despite the hard edges of the man.

The Lord greets them on his carved stone chair, a remarkably simple thing for one of such wealth. His armour is still equipped, a massive war hammer leaning against the arm of the chair. Clearly, he had been ready to fight to his last breath if (when) the doors broke down. A few people from the town are trickling out through a side door, relieved to be free from their safe house and the Soldier thinks that the Lord must have sheltered them, willing to give his life to save those who were spared from the Monster. 

His opinion of nobility changes just a little. 

“My friends!” booms the Lord, his large arms spread wide in welcome and gratitude. “You have thrown your whole souls into this battle, despite having no real ties to this town! I and my people thank you from the bottom of our hearts,”

His voice lowers as he shifts, graver now as he gets down to business. 

“For this, I think it is true that you deserve a rich reward! Each of you shall name your price and I’ll grant it if it is within my power!”

He leans his elbows on his legs, his body reaching forward to hear their requests with interest and warm respect. The Archer privately thinks that he likes this Lord.

The Alchemist is let forward by the others first, for without her alchemy and experience, this fight would have surely seen a different outcome. Her amber eye roves the room as she thinks, her rifle slung across her slightly stooped back. 

“I do require more financial income for my alchemy…and my daughter,” she says at last, her one eye softening at the mere thought of her brave girl. “I believe there is still much to learn about the craft,”

The Lord chuckles at that, his posture relaxed and confident.

“Now that is an easy one! From this day forth, you shall have a portion of my riches every full moon! This should cover the costs, no?”

The Alchemist is clearly touched and sinks to one knee. The Lord lifts from the chair and crosses to her, helping her up and kissing her hand, murmuring words of comfort and kindness, before turning his scarred gaze to the equally scarred Soldier, the metal of his armour glinting in the light of the torches. 

“And you, my friend?”

Soldier fiddles with his gun, sighing as something falls off it and clinks to the ground. 

“I could use a new smith. This gun’s seen better days and I don’t have any contacts I trust for this,”

The Alchemist rolls her eye while Reinhardt nods in sympathy.

“And a smith you shall have! I have a fantastic smith in my service who can craft anything he puts his mind to! For this day forth, you shall have full use of his work whenever you wish!”

The Soldier salutes, a big grin stretching across his face as he imagines the kind of weaponry he’ll be able to wield. The fight is never over and this should ease his burden considerably.

The Gunslinger shuffles, tipping his hat upwards as he moves the cigar lazily in his mouth. 

“Y’know, I had to walk all the way here,” he grouses a bit. “And my feet are mighty sore now. If it ain’t too much trouble, I’ll take money for the bus and some fancy cigars, if y’got any?”

The Lord stares at him for a solid minute before laughing loudly, slapping his knee with a clang. 

“Oh, this kills the man, Gunslinger! A cheeky yet simple request! Yes, yes, you can have as much money for the bus as you please - and I am fairly certain I store a good amount of German-brand cigars. Take your pick, my friend - in fact, take some whiskey with you as well!”

He continues to rumble with amusement as the Gunslinger tilts his hat downwards in thanks. 

“Thank ya kindly, sir. I’ll do just that,”

And finally, abruptly, it’s the Archer’s turn. His eyes hesitantly meet the gaze of the Lord, who surely would not be as jolly with him if he found out the crime for which he had been rightly banished for. He already knows his answer, having decided it from the beginning. 

“Nothing,”

There is a surprised pause from all the inhabitants of the room as they watch the Archer lift his chin.

“I wish for nothing,”

The Lord walks over and observes him, a hand to his chin. 

“Good Archer, I insist,” he answers at last, his voice gentle all of a sudden. The Archer wants nothing more than to hide his face away from such concern. As it is, he only clenches his fists and flicks his gaze to a stained-glass window.

“You worked as hard as the others tonight! Surely that deserves SOMETHING?” The Lord sounds slightly lost at this refusal; there has obviously never been a person to out-rightly say no to a reward before.

The Archer stares resolutely at the window. 

“I do not deserve such a thing, thank you,”

The Lord sighs and then places a massive hand on the smaller shoulder, his expression troubled.

“Then at least let me give you shelter for the night. The weather has taken a turn for the worse, after all,”

A crack of thunder proves his point and the Archer mutely nods, knowing he will not win another argument. This in itself is too kind for one like him, but he’s too worn, bruised and battered to argue. Besides, he thinks he may have cracked a rib or two and that will be harder to heal from on the wild roads. The Lord pulls his hand away, relieved beyond words, while the other wanderers express confusion at the Archer’s humble words - a stark contrast to his words and banter on the field hours before. An aura surrounding him prevents them from interrogating him, however. 

He is silent and wishes to be alone now.

The Alchemist - no, Ana Amari - watches him limp after a courteous servant and wonders.

* * *

 

In the end, they all stay at the castle for the remainder of the night and Jesse McCree remarks brightly how much he’s missed a pretty bed in the morning. She knows the name Jesse McCree, but doesn’t stop him from leaving with a spring in his step and tip of his hat. Jesse has moved on and dragging him back into the past will do no good. She gazes after him trailing through the autumn mist with the Soldier in tow, Jack laughing his rusty laugh at some quick wit. 

She has a funny feeling she’ll be chasing after them again to save their sorry hides soon enough.

The Archer, however, has yet to leave, hidden in the shadows of the castle from her sight. It’s only when she asks after him that the Lord himself mentions giving the Archer a tour, for he had been inquisitive and eager to learn the history. 

“We had a lot of fun!” the Lord says cheerily, delving into his breakfast. “The boy asked so many questions - I haven’t had someone interested in my family’s history for years!”

Ana finds the Archer eventually, his hand timidly touching a woven tapestry as though he were afraid of it crumbling at his touch. Perhaps it was old; Ana knows about feeling old.

“Archer,”

His hand snatches away, cradled against his chest. 

“Ah,” he hums, bowing stiffly at the waist. “Good morning, Alchemist,”

A long practiced ritual, designed to push people away, though she knows there are many cultures that greet people this way. A suspicion rises within her, but she squashes it, smoothing down her storm grey coat. 

Not yet. 

“I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning,” she continues, her voice light and friendly. “Surely you wouldn’t be rude to your host by not eating his food?”

The Archer straightens his back, his brow furrowed. 

“No,” he replies curtly. “I am not so dishonourable. I ate earlier,”

Ana turns her head casually to the side, straightening a crooked chair decorated with a lion’s head. 

“Good - I was worried you might have been avoiding things that were necessary for living,”

Her voice betrays nothing of her observations as she steps closer, seeing his breathing quicken. 

“You seem almost disappointed that you’re still alive,”

The Archer back away, oak brown orbs narrowed as his lip curls. 

“You assume too much, Alchemist,” he snaps imperiously. “You know nothing of me besides what I should not have let slip,”

Ana smiles, a motherly, sad thing. 

“I don’t know much about you, that’s true,” she concedes. “But you appear to be a troubled man - no one should feel an urge for Death like you do,”

The Archer hunches in on himself, his fire snuffed out as speedily as it lit. Ana remembers his words about his brother and though she can NEVER condone the murder of family, she senses there are parts of the story missing. The Archer is tormenting himself in a far greater way than any hell could.

“Where are you from?” she asks eventually, though she knows already, having heard the answer from his mouth and he lifts his head slightly. 

“A village far from here,” he rasps slowly.

“With cherry blossoms in the spring,”

“Yes,”

Ana waits for a moment. 

“Do you miss it?” she presses, as though she were pressing against an infected sore and witnessing it burst the infected contents.

The Archer quivers with wide eyes. 

“…Yes,”

His voice is soft, full of broken glass shards littering the floor around his heart. Someone like this can’t be truly evil. 

“You asked about my alchemy,” Ana breaks the quiet with a new line. “You were very interested, studious in your question,”

The Archer tilts his head as he returns to himself, his muscles in his body calmer and less coiled inwards. 

“I need a student,” she intones carefully, watching his face for any reaction. “Someone who is willing and _interested_. I think I might have found one,”

The Archer grasps her meaning immediately, mind as swift as his arrows. She’s satisfied.

“Why ask one such as I?”

“Because you fit the bill,” she returns briskly, cracking her spine as she stretches, all business now. “And I have a feeling you’ll benefit from my work greatly! Besides, I’m an old woman, Archer. I need an heir - and my daughter has already found her calling - can’t expect her to drop what she truly wants for her silly old mother,”

The Archer isn’t looking at her anymore, his gaze studying his boots. There is a shyness there and she feels a motherly warmth in her chest.

“All I ask is your name,”

Just when she thinks he might refuse after all, he swallows hard and locks wide eyes with her. 

“My name is Hanzo. I am not certain I can stay and accept your kindness…but I would like to selfishly accept your offer,”

Ana grins broadly and holds out a hand. 

“Come on then, young man. You’ve got a LOT to learn,”

Hanzo reaches out and takes her hand with a small smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, there we go! Thanks for reading.


End file.
